


Don't Mask Your Feelings

by mudkipwrites



Series: Quarantine Cuddles [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Comfort No Hurt, Comfort Reading, Face Masks, Ficlets, Gen, Humor, M/M, Sick Character, Sick-Fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:53:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27702355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mudkipwrites/pseuds/mudkipwrites
Summary: Part 2 of a collection of KalluZeb sick-fics based upon various prompts and suggestions. I hope they provide you with a little distraction and cheer during this time! Stay sane out there! <3
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Series: Quarantine Cuddles [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2025896
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Don't Mask Your Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: “Everyone is in face masks, which is tragic, because that means Zeb cannot ogle kallus' mutton chops. At some point, he just draws them on." 

  


* * *

  


It’s not quite as bad as the time when Loth-rats got into the meiloorun storage, tracking their sticky little paw-prints everywhere. 

And yet, it’s still pretty bad: after a brief  _ (yet eventful)  _ pit-stop at the Rebel base on Ossus, several crew members of the Ghost have now contracted a nasty case of the Oceanic flu. Along with the typical body-aches, fatigue, and raspy throats, those afflicted are burdened with thick, pinkish-purple mucus that drips incessantly out from their nostrils.

So, naturally, everyone is also now wearing a  face-mask . 

“Actually? I think it makes me look sorta  _ cool _ ,” Ezra proclaims. He admires his cloud-colored mask in the mirror, turning back and forth to admire the way that it frames his youthful, tanned face. “See, Sabine? Although...it really  _ could  _ use a bit more color.” He throws a look over his shoulder at his purple-haired sister. 

“Already on it!” the Mandolorian replies, waving her wet paintbrush in affirmation. “You can be up next, Ezra. I’m nearly done now with Kanan."

Not only is Sabine wearing a lovely, hand-decorated mask over her own nose and mouth with patterns similar to those of her helmet, but she is also holding a fresh one in her hand, and busily painting it with the thin, curving markings from Kanan’s eye-shield. “ _ There,”  _ she says, making a final stroke with a flourish. “I just want to make sure that everybody wears something that suits them!” 

From the corner, there is a disbelieving grunt. 

“Veto that,” Garazeb Orrelios replies sourly.  His thick arms are crossed over his broad, furry chest, and he seems to be brooding as he stares out the window. “I don’t wanna go addin’ fumes to a fire that’s already burnin.”  Ezra and Sabine exchange a look. Out of all the Spectres, Zeb seems to have taken their recent descent into illness the hardest. Usually, the cheerful Lasat can be found doing his chores all over the cabin, but  _ lately--  _ after just one week of everyone wearing the masks--there is a distinctive droop to his ears, a drag to his step.

It is as if with the onset of the illnes, that the wind has been taken out of his burly sails.

Sabine gives Ezra a meaningful nod of her head towards Zeb. With a sigh, the Force-user rises and sidles up to the big Lasat.  “Why so gloomy, roomie?” he asks Garazeb, going for humor to lighten his mood. But when Zeb does not answer, he frowns and places his hands upon his meaty shoulders. “Aw, c’mon, Zeb! Life’s not  _ so  _ bad!” 

“It  _ is,”  _ Zeb replies, voice rough and bitter from the terrible post-nasal drip. “We have to wear these ‘basting  _ masks  _ all of the time!” 

Confused, Ezra glances over at Sabine. She shrugs her shoulders, at as much a loss as the other as to why this bothers the Lasat so much. “It’s not like it’s shackles or anything, buddy,” Ezra chuckles. He digs his fingertips into the tense muscle of his shoulders, massaging circles in a way that he’s seen Hera do and hopes that it is soothing. “We’ve been in  far  worse situations than this.” 

“It’s still pretty karking  bad _ ,”  _ Garazeb sniffs. He drops his fuzzy chin into his hand, glaring testily at a point on the ground. 

Ezra furrows his brow, thinking. Then, mischief sparks in his blue eyes, and he says: “Well, at least the  _ company’s  _ better.” He shoots Sabine a knowing grin, and she gives him a silent thumbs-up. “Yeah, yeah, we’re all glad you’re back, kid,” Zeb grunts to his brother. It had certainly been more _quiet_ with the absence of their youngest member after his journey with the purrgils. 

“That’s not what I meant, Zeb," the young man pokes Zeb in the side of his ribs. "I meant: now that we’ve added  _ Kallus." _

From where his head rests in his hands, Zeb’s ears begin to twitch. “What’s that suppos’ta mean?” He does a terrible job of covering the way that his fur ruffles on his shoulders and back, rises to standing behind his ears. If Zeb had a tail, it would most certainly be twitching with irritation and impatience right now--all to cover what is most _certainly_ a blush. 

“You’ve  _ got  _ to be kidding me, Zeb,” Ezra snorts. He crouches down, but the Lasat will not meet his gaze. “You’re _kidding_ me. Right?” 

Garazeb Orrelios turns, hunching his shoulders and glaring down at the younger Spectre.  “You got somethin’ to  _ say, _ Bridger ?” he rumbles darkly. Typically, this kind of intimidation tactic works upon other people. But now that his face is covered up by one of those diaper-like masks, the impression is far less formidable. In fact, it's a bit comical. 

“I’m  _ saying _ ,” Ezra snickers, “That I thought you’d be a little more cheerful, given that we’ve got your  _ boyfriend  _ sailing along with us.” 

There is something  wild  behind the Lasat’s eyes as he rears up to standing and faces Ezra. It is as if his familiar, fighting spirit has suddenly been returned to him tenfold. “ _ Leave it!  _ ” he snaps, eyes flashing dangerously. “You leave Alexsandr Kallus outta this and mind yer own 'basting business. I don't have a boyfriend. We are not _dating_.” 

The alien man's towering height is enough to send any human scurrying, but this is  _ Ezra Bridger _ . He's used to such antics.  “ _ Right,” he _ returns playfully.  _ “ _ And I’m a  _ Purrgil _ .” 

“He’s  _ not  _ my boyfriend!” Zeb repeats, voice blooming into a loud shrill. He casts his gaze side to side, as if  _ he  _ is the one trapped in a small space with a threatening animal. “There’s  _ nothin’  _ going on between Kallus an’ me! Nothin’!” All the hair is standing on his shoulders and back now, and his ears are flicked down to the sides. 

Having mercy, Ezra backs off and tries a different tactic. 

“Well, that’s too bad for you, then,” he says, voice casual and full of submission. He shrugs his shoulders. “If there  _ were,  _ I would suggest that,  _ maybe,  _ Sabine here could cheer you up. With a special commission.” When Zeb blinks at him, ears perking up again, he continues: "Haven't you ever seen couple's masks? You could have a set. Maybe something with big, glittering hearts across the face. Maybe something cute, like what 'Bine painted up on our wall. You two could hold hands. _I'm with him,_ or whatever."

Zeb lunges for the human, snarling.  Ezra cackles and dances away, evading him easily.

Before he can grab hold and crush his brother, Sabine grasps the Lasat's jumpsuit.  “Garazeb Orrelios," her voice is soothing and friendly, “why the hurry, Big Guy? Why don’t you just stay here and talk with your old pal Sabine for a while?”  Zeb groans and closes his eyes. He is  _ powerless  _ against the willpower of his little sister, and he follows her back into her cabin with a grim resignation. Even when he knows that she is going to badger him about Kallus, and make everything about this situation _ten_ times worse. Still, he allows himself to be steered back into the chair, sinking down into the cushioned fabric with a hiss. 

“I’m gonna throw Ezra out the  _ airlock,"  _ he grumbles. "Next chance. I _swear_ it.” 

Sabine hums in sympathetic agreement. 

She perches once again at her art stool, retrieving a gold pot of paint from the table. When Zeb’s moody silence lingers on, she prompts: “So.  _ Kallus…?”  _ The Lasat groans again. He drops his masked face into his open hands, knowing fully-well that he cannot keep anything from Sabine. The ruffle of fur and beginning blushe have started again. “What do’ya want to  _ know  _ ?” he asks plaintively, sensing no escape. 

She shrugs. She doesn't push him, just offers a calm curiosity.  “Nothing, of course. You never have to say  _ anything  _ that you don’t want to share, Zeb.”  Emphasizing the truthfulness of her point, she turns fully away from him, focusing in on her artwork. 

The Lasat makes it a full, silent minute before he can no longer bear being ignored.  “Fine! Fine, Alright!” he spills, “So maybe I  _ do  _ want to talk about Alexsandr Kallus!”

Sabine turns and sets the mask down. Her deep-brown gaze is open and warm as she gazes at Garazeb. “So you  _ do  _ like him?” she asks. 

“Yes.” He clenches his fists, closing his eyes in affection. “ _ Karabast,  _ yes!”  It has been just over a week since Kallus has joined up with the  _ Ghost  _ crew, and about just as long since he had decided to begin seriously courting the man. Even  _ before  _ Zeb had come to know him so much better while they’d served together upon Yavin’s base, Kallus had  _ always  _ been  _ everything  _ Zeb could desire in one of his partners: incredibly strong, unapologetically confident, cuttingly smart, rakishly charismatic. Normally, he would not  _ hesitate  _ to express his affections. But  _ now...  _ given the current circumstances...

Sabine nods with approval. 

“That’s great!” she replies, turning back to her painting. Zeb can tell by the slight shake to her shoulders that she is silently laughing from behind her mask.  “I know, I  _ know,”  _ he says, scratching behind his head. “ _ Nobody  _ is surprised. But. I didn’ want it like  _ this?”  _ He gestures towards the mask on his face, the tired hunch of his shoulders, dull eyes. "I was hopin' that I could break the news a little... _different."_

Sabine reaches for a pot of burnt-orange colored paint. “What do you mean?” she asks pleasantly. 

Garazeb sighs. He wonders about how strange the Lasat mating custom will sound to his friend, even though he has been burning to talk about it. “Well…” he begins hesitantly. “There’s this  _ ritual.”  _ When she only hums in encouragement, Zeb forces himself to be brave and continues. “Back on my planet, we had this ritual among my people. When we were... _ nterested...  _ in a person, say, as a mate, we would take the time for groomin’ and scentin’ each other. As in, daily. So our scents became regular.”

“Grooming?” Sabine asks politely. “Scenting?”  She doesn't make him feel weird in her question. He _loves_ that about her. 

“Uh, so, basically,  _ kissing,”  _ Zeb admits. He chuckles at the awkwardness of saying it aloud. “But, just for Lasats. We do it by rubbin’ our faces together, markin’ our beards with one another’s scent-glands in our fur.” He winces, scratching at the back of his rounded, furry head. "But that's sort of a problem right now." 

Sabine tilts her head, raising slim eyebrows. “Okay, sure. But why is that a _problem_? Do you think that Kallus wouldn't care for it?" 

Zeb shifts awkwardly in his chair. He’s come  _ very  _ close to scent-marking the man during some of their more heated embraces while upon Yavin's base, and he cannot picture the other rejecting him for displaying such an intimate moment of affection. “No, no. That’s not it. It’s because--” he growls, losing his temper, “--of _those._ _K_ _ arking. Face Masks!” _

His sister looks surprised. Then, she laughs. After a moment, Zeb feels himself chuckling too. 

“They’re gettin’ in my way,” Zeb grumbles with resentment. “Normally, when you’re courtin’ a partner, you make your invitation by rubbin’ your beard right into their face. But I can’t  _ do  _ that right now, because Kallus’  _ face  _ is bein'--bein'--” he searches for the words to adequately express his frustration--”bein'  _ hidden away _ from _ me  _ by that terrible mask! It's like I'm not even allowed to have him!”  When the words leave his mouth, Garazeb Orrelios realizes how silly it truly sounds. _A mask? Keep Kallus away from me? Even the Empire couldn't separate us._ And when he looks back at Sabine, he notices that she has something freshly-painted in her hands. 

It's a mask. _Kallus'_ mask. He can tell, because it's been marked by golden-orange paint, formed into a handsome mutton-chop pattern. 

“I know it’s not exactly the same.” Sabine giggles, her eyes twinkling. “And I know it won't have the texture, or smell. But, it might get you through--at least for  _ now." _ She grins at him. " And when this whole Oceanic flu thing clears up…” His sister leans in, closes the space between them, handing Zeb the finished mask by placing the dried fabric inside of his paw, “I expect that you’ll  _ scent  _ your man good and proper.” 

Normally, this would be too embarrassing to discuss. But Zeb finds himself choking up with emotion, a grateful bubble of happiness at being known and valued by his family member. 

"Aw, 'Bine," he rumbles, attempting to formulate words. He closes his clawed fingers around the fabric. "I've got the best lil' sister that anyone could ask for." He stands, throwing a burly arm around her. 

"And the best little brother!" Ezra chirps from the doorway. He's come back into the room, finding Zeb to be far less lethal than when he'd pursued him before. "We've been trying to figure out what's got you so down, and came up with this idea to cheer you up." He grins at Zeb, who gestures him over into the hug. "Turns out that the 'chops mean even more to you than we ever would have suspected or thought." 

Zeb chuckles, rubbing a close-knuckled fist into the young Jedi's hair. "Guess I don't have to space ya after all," he says. 

With either human resting under his arms, Zeb is steered out of the room and back towards the galley. His stride is lighter, and his chin is lifted, and his heart feels like it is floating on air. In spite of his cold, the Lasat looks and feels more cheerful than he has during their entire mission.  And when the trio of them enter into the dining room--arms wrapped about each other and laughing, clad in a chaos of brightly-painted masks, clutching the golden-orange disk in between them--they catch Alexsandr Kallus by surprise. 

Zeb jumps, then blushes. The former ISB agent squints his observant, bright-amber eyes in suspicion. 

“Good afternoon, Sabine. Jabba. Garazeb.” He inclines his head politely.Then, after a moment’s inspection, his eyes lock on the brightly-painted mask. A funny look crosses over his face as he successfully interprets the pattern of the design: the cut and curve of the mutton-chops; the added glitter of hearts; and--maybe _ ,  _ just  _ maybe,  _ in the  _ tiniest  _ of font, the delicate, scripted word  _ “boyfriends.” _ “Er. Pardon my asking...” he blushes lightly. “but, is that...are those  _ my….?” _

“For you, Kal,” Zeb says gruffly, extending the mask to the human before him. “Wanted to make it special.” 

The sandy-haired man reaches forward to receive the mask. For a moment he just holds it, staring at the thing in between his hands as though he has never been given an item from someone else in his entire life. And then, in one fluid and decisive motion, he yanks the dull-grey medical mask from his face and replaces it with the brightly-painted gift for him. Even though his lips, teeth and beard cannot be seen behind the fabric, it is clear from the crinkles around his eyes that he is beaming. 

He looks... _adorable,_ by Zeb's standards. 

Unlike the sharp, severe lines of his face, the mask is more bubbled and cartoon-like than the regular thing. Far more bushy and boxy, it gives him a rather soft and furry look: and, to Zeb, it suits him much better than any of his old Imperial guard. Although Kallus has only been here with them for a short while, he looks as though he actually belongs here on the _Ghost_ among the Spectres. 

For the first time since they'd donned the masks, Zeb finds himself feeling reassured that he will be able to make these new adjustments.

And that, although he might not be able to scent-mark and court Alexsandr Kallus in the way that he'd been expecting, that there might still be some other options for them in store. If he can have the same zest and fire as his brother Ezra--if he uses his creative and clever mind, like Sabine--there will be no shortage of ways to show his romantic interest.

Nor a shortage of _nuzzles_ when they're all _cured,_ later. 

  


* * *

  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you have the time. <3


End file.
